


sacrifice, like a kiss

by asdfgjkl



Category: Avatar (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender, 残響のテロル | Zankyou no Terror | Terror in Resonance
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Angst, Incest, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfgjkl/pseuds/asdfgjkl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I challenge you to an Agni Kai."</i><br/> <br/>In which Nine and Twelve are two of the Fire Nation's twelve Princes and they have to defeat each other in a duel to win the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sacrifice, like a kiss

Electric blue shot out of Nine’s hand. His face was masked concentration, his back a rigid arch, fingers deadly precision.

Across the field, Twelve was inhaling, exhaling, his chest expanding. Three fingers from each hand painting a slanted ‘V’, or a tick from their Math teacher, or his doodles on the margins of Nine’s textbooks from way back when. Over and over again.

Twelve welcomed Nine’s lightning into himself.

 

 

“I accept.”

It wasn’t like Twelve hadn’t been expecting this. In fact, he, along with the rest of the Fire Nation, was starting to wonder why it was taking his brother so long to initiate the duel.

Older siblings challenged younger ones to a formal fight; it was the way of respect. Stupid that their traditions still went on and on about  _respect_ , even before homicide.

“Then, I will meet you in the chamber at dusk.”

Twelve lifted his hands in a salute – left palm upwards, right palm curled into a fist. It was probably the last one he was going to give.

“I will be there.”

 

 

Twelve stared at his reflection in the grand, golden-framed mirror in his room, suited for a Prince of the Fire Nation. Messy curls, eyes too innocent to intimidate, lips too friendly to trigger malice. Height too short to stand proud.

He closed his eyes and exhaled.

His fingers latched onto the straps on his armor, unfastening his pauldron from his shoulders, followed by his cape. He usually had servants do these things for him, but today, he needed to do it alone.

Only he could strip himself bare of the pretense of power, the feigned authority that a breastplate with the royal insignia gave him.

Drawing power from within, from his firebending, that was the only way he could win against Nine.

 

 

Once, the Fire Lord had twelve children: nine males and three females. They didn’t see each other much, preferring to seclude themselves in the privacy of their own wings in the castle. Their respective mothers encouraged it too, out of jealousy.

On the fifth year of the Fire Lord’s reign, he summoned all twelve of his children to his throne room. It was the first time the royal siblings had stood together.

It was also the last.

“Each of you will challenge your brothers and sisters to an Agni Kai,” the Fire Lord announced. “The last one standing will be crowned as my heir.

“From now on, you will be stripped of your given names. You will be referred to by a number, bestowed upon you according to your seniority.” He paused. “Only the victor will be returned his or her name upon their coronation.”

Twelve, as his name suggested, was the youngest.

 

 

Just as Twelve was about to relieve his top-knot of its ornament, there was a knock on his door. His heart crumpled and dissolved into ashes he hoped Nine would have the mercy to scatter across high plains, low valleys, or infinite seas.

He swallowed.

“Come in.”

 

 

Strangely enough, their father’s call to war was what brought the siblings together.

Some of them, anyway.

The strong ones wanted to form a coalition. Together, they’d get rid of the weaker ones first, the non-benders. Then, they’d turn against each other.

The weak ones wanted to form a coalition. Together, they’d plot to kill off the stronger ones in less than honorable ways. Then, they’d challenge each other to an Agni Kai.

As the youngest, Twelve was also the slightest. He’d also always been naturally smaller – ‘ _gifted with agility_ ’, his teacher said – so although he could firebend, he wasn’t exactly muscled enough to fit the picture of  _strong_. On the other hand, his firebending also prevented him from joining the  _weak_.

Nine was the opposite. Even though he wasn’t as physically endowed as, say, One, who could probably beat an earthbender at earthbending through raw strength, or Seven, the giant everybody steered clear from, he was intelligent, rumored to have the best collection of brain cells throughout the Fire Nation. His excellent education didn’t hurt, either.

Among the siblings, he was also the best at firebending – and this wasn’t a rumor.

Twelve was the one to approach Nine when the others began scattering into their little cliques. Twelve was nine and Nine was twelve.

“Why aren’t you with the others?” Twelve asked.

He saw Nine hardening his jaw. “I don’t need them to win,” he said.

Nine was perfectly composed when he answered Twelve, as a Prince should be. However, despite his projected calmness, Twelve could sense a silent fury beneath his words. Almost as if he was seething.

Twelve blinked. He has a loving mother, kind and warm. But maybe… Nine didn’t?

In a sudden burst of confidence, Twelve said, “Me too.”

Nine looked at him, sourly, as if appraising him.

“You’re Twelve,” he said. A statement. Condescension.

The youngest nodded. “Do you want to work together?”

Messy curls, eyes too innocent to intimidate, lips too friendly to trigger malice; a stark contrast against smooth, inky hair, eyes murdered into slits, lips curled into a minute snarl one didn’t see, but felt in the bones.

The Prince who didn’t belong and the Prince who threatened the power balance.

“We could be like a- a,” Twelve searched for the correct phrase. He had heard the kids in the country use it during his various expeditions out of the castle. As the youngest, his presence was hardly missed, so he was given more leniency with his freedom. “A tag team!”

There was no expression on Nine’s face to give away his feelings.

At last, he stood up from the boulder he was sitting on, making a show of dusting the back of his robe before walking away.

“Come to my study tomorrow. Bring your guardian. We’ll settle the legalities then.”

Twelve didn’t feel a surge of happiness or hope. Somehow, it was as if he knew Nine would agree.

He was, however, impressed that Nine has his own study. Guess being the brainiest came with a few advantages of its own.

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “I will be there.”

Eight years has passed since.

Out of twelve, only the two of them remain.

 

 

Twelve’s door opened, revealing a maiden in a flowery silk robe.

Twelve’s heart reconstructed itself from the ashes and settled back into his chest. It was his intended. It wasn’t the person he wanted to see but wasn’t sure he could face. He sighed inwardly. He should probably visit Nine later, before the fight. Young approached old; old challenged young – that was the golden rule.

Lisa rushed inwards and gathered him in her embrace.

“Twelve,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, as if savoring his scent would stop time.

He didn’t console her. He wasn’t sure if he loved her, or if he had chosen her because she was safe.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have-”

She pulled away from him – head shaking vigorously, eyes shining with determination. “Don’t be,” she said. And then in a lower voice, she whispered, almost defiantly, “Hisami-kun.”

Twelve’s eyes widened, and he pulled her back into his arms. He didn’t want Lisa to see him cry.

 

 

Three years. Nine was attending his private lessons, this time taught by a prestigious Royal teacher, the best in the field of Medicine. Or was it Physics he was studying? He wasn’t sure, and that had a lot to do with Twelve’s distracting presence.

“Hey,” Twelve murmured, suddenly leaning in and shocking Nine into jerking away. His chair scraped against the floor.

The teacher turned around from where he was writing on the blackboard and narrowed his eyes at the boys, who were back to their perfect postures in their individual chairs. Twelve smiled at him.

“What?” Nine hissed once the professor has turned back around.

“Your teacher,” Twelve said, enunciating his words slowly and carefully, “has a funny hat.”

Nine shot him a look:  _really, of all things?_

“It looks like he’s trying to cover up his scalp,” he continued. “But why would he do that?”

Nine sighed. Twelve loved testing him, even though he knew Nine aced everything that was thrown at him. It was as if reaffirming Nine’s intelligence helped Twelve reaffirm his choice.

“He’s bald.”

When he gave Twelve a sideways glance, he saw that Twelve was smiling, his eyes twinkling with mischief and low-grade humor, the corners of his mouth quirked in a way Nine has grown fond of.

“Exactly.”

Twelve has never seen those questions as tests.

“Prince Nine,” came the teacher’s voice from in front, “would you please solve this question?”

He spoke sharply, the edges of his words slicing into the air. Twelve didn’t like him. He took a lesson with the man once and told his mom he never wanted to attend class again. She laughed, and he found a national-ranked teacher in place of this man the next day.

Nine looked at the problem on the board.

Mathematics. They were studying Mathematics.

He stood up, retrieved a piece of chalk from his teacher’s desk, and started answering the question.

 

 

Twelve could hear the clacking of his shoes echoing through the hallways. He stretched his toes as far as they could go before curling them in his too tight Fire Prince dress shoes. He stopped in front of a looming door, at least twice as tall and wide as his.

From experience, he knew that the space inside was at least four times as long and wide as his.

He tapped the handle twice and waited for a reply.

 

 

“Don’t ever ask to combine our lessons again,” Nine threatened darkly.

“Why not?” Twelve asked, feigning innocence.

“Just  _don’t_.”

They were walking out of Nine’s study, and Twelve guessed that his older brother was heading to the gardens for some light reading.

Sure enough, Nine made a left at the next fork, exited the main body of the castle through a side door, and climbed a flight of stairs past lines of well-trimmed bushes on either side of him.

Twelve shuffled along behind him, like the loyal little brother he was.

“What are you doing?” Nine murmured. By now, this question was practically rhetorical. He’s asked it a billion times too many for it to actually mean something.

“Reading with you,  _Prince Brother_.”

“Why do you insist on doing everything with me?”

“I want to get to know you better.”

“ _Why_?”

Twelve shrugged. “I’m giving you my life, aren’t I?” he said, casual and lighthearted. “I just want to make sure I’m giving it to the right person.”

Nine was about to stop. He was about to demand an explanation from Twelve.

But, he remembered his lessons in time – authority, control, composure – and stopped himself from stopping.  _I_   _was aware of Twelve’s intentions from the very beginning_ , he reminded himself.

Still, it wasn’t what he already knew that shocked him. It was how his brother had already resigned himself to losing that disgusted him.

 

 

Nine opened his door, and Twelve almost fell to his knees at the flawless picture Nine presented.

 _Yes_ , he thought.  _Fire Lord Arata._

 _This is_ right _._

Just as he thought that – and he might’ve accidentally said it aloud – he was engulfed in the presence of another; scent he associated with security, like autumn, tinged with cinnamon. Robes like splattered blood or the shade of his closest bond. Shoulder blades that grew wings, took him flying up and up, higher and higher.

Nine was surrounding him and there was nothing else in his world but Nine, Nine and Nine.

 

 

Out of Twelve’s hand was more lightning, redirected at an angle. If he had aimed at Nine, his brother would’ve only redirected it back at him, and that would lead to a game of redirection which Twelve would inadvertently lose.

He wasn’t fast enough to top Nine’s reflexes.

He switched to a firebending stance, legs wide and bent, an arm punching empty space, and shot out bullets of concentrated flame from his fist.

Nine twisted and sidestepped, fluid.

 

 

Nine was reading now, sitting in a pavilion, leaning against a pillar.

Twelve made no move to sit beside him, choosing instead to stand before his brother and observe him.

Nine made no move to invite Twelve to sit.

The breeze fluttered. Trees tinkled.

Or was it the wind chime?

“Hisami Touji,” Twelve said eventually, his voice rusted, his skin speckled with goosebumps.

Nine didn’t even look up. His eyes were still traveling along the lines of the book, but Twelve knew he was no longer reading.

He had just given Nine a secret that was no longer his to give.

Then: “Kokonoe Arata. Ninth in line.”

So had Nine.

Twelve smiled, and it was the smile that Nine knew he would have to wipe off the face of the Earth someday.

 

 

But for now,  _for now_ , they could content themselves with foolish longings of the days when their names had more weight than their numbers. They could look only to the near future and see themselves standing side by side; detachedly watching their brothers and sisters fall into eternal sleep, one after another, pretending their only brothers were each other.

 

 

They marched to the chamber together, capes rolling in waves behind them, hands by their sides, arms just slightly grazing. Warmth.

Twelve knew there were bets set up for their match, just like for all the previous matches. The odds were one against four. There had never been anyone going against Nine whose odds weren’t a double digit.

A four made it seem like he stood a chance against Nine. He didn’t. People were only betting on him because they thought Nine might show him mercy on the grounds of their friendship.

 

 

Nine dispersed the flames coming his way with his bare fists.

He conjured more lightning – left, right,  _shoot_.

 

 

Twelve took the right side while Nine strolled onto the left. They crouched, bowing their heads, and shed their capes as they stood up.

Nine charged.

 

 

“Stupid,” Nine hissed. “Idiot.”

Even though he was saying that, he still held Twelve in his arms as tightly as ever, unwilling to let go.

“I know.”

And then what that shocked Twelve the most:

“Don’t you dare lose.”

He bunched up the back of Nine’s shirt, not caring that it would look rumpled. Well, he did, properly straightened shirts had everything to do with regality, but Nine was asking him to win and when did that ever happen?

Twelve shook his head. “You too.”

He could feel Nine’s head, also shaking in reply.

“No,” he said. “Only you.”

 

 

The brothers blasted their lightning propellers into life at the same time.

Then, they charged.

Nine was quicker, sliding across the field a quasi-second before Twelve.

Twelve was more prepared, firing fireball after fireball at Nine, giving his brother more and more of a difficult time as they got closer and there was less room to dodge.

But of course, Nine still deflected everything with seemingly nothing, all while readying his own attack – lightning. More lightning.

Nine pointed his fingers at Twelve’s chest and watched as cobalt swallowed the other man.

 

 

The moon hung heavy in the sky. Two years.

Twelve refused to eat. He had just won his first Agni Kai. He was being celebrated, a feast thrown in his honor, but he was sick with the thought of his first blood.

Out came Nine, walking from his secret side door, sitting down beside Twelve in what has become  _their_  pavilion.

“I’m not hungry,” Twelve said before Nine even got a word out.

Nine scoffed. “I didn’t ask.”

Twelve pouted.

They let the quiet settle, comfortable, at ease.

“He would’ve killed you,” Nine said after a while.

“I know.”

“Then go back inside. You’re being rude.”

“ _Brother_ ,” Twelve whined exaggeratedly, “you’re supposed to comfort me!”

He flung himself at Nine, arms open, and fell to the floor as Nine moved away at the last second.

“ _In_ side,” Nine said from above him.

 

 

Twelve’s hand shot out from around where the icy flames were beginning to form and gripped Nine’s wrist unrelentingly, shoving it to one side.

The sky was alight with sapphire hail.

Nine tried to jump backwards, avoid Twelve, but the younger man was still attached to his arm. With his free hand, Twelve summoned a ball of fire and slammed it into Nine’s chest.

Their gazes met.

 

 

Six years. Twelve stood behind Nine, in the midst of a downpour. Nine wanted to dissolve their agreement. Twelve was strongly against it – he reasoned, yelled, held the power of their written treaty over Nine.

His brother didn’t seem to care for any of it.

“It’ll be easier,” he said at last. “For you.”

“For me?” Twelve cried in disbelief. “You mean for  _you_? So you don’t have to deal with me?”

“No,” came Nine’s voice, ever calm. “For you. Later, when we fight, it’ll be easier for you.”

 _When_  and not  _if_.

“We don’t have to fight,” Twelve mumbled almost reluctantly. “I can just give the throne up-”

“Where’s the honor in that?” Nine shouted.

The rain was an angry god. The rain was a silvery curtain. The rain ran its fingers through their lashes and choked the boys, reaching deep within their throats. The rain was Nine and Twelve, both at once.

Twelve hardened his jaw. “Then you give the throne up, brother. I’ll suffer the dishonor.”

Nine’s hands curled into balls. He shook his head.

“I can’t.”

Six years, Twelve realized how little he meant to Nine in the face of the throne.

 

 

Nine jerked back just in time, reducing Twelve’s fatal blow to a mere searing of his skin.

In front of him, Twelve was panting – eyes hard, gears shifting, just short of clicking into place.

He was willing to lose to Nine – he had come into the battle planning to lose – but he didn’t want to seem like he’s losing deliberately.

He never thought that would be a problem, until now.

Nine could’ve easily threw him aside when he had forcibly held on. What the hell was his brother thinking?

Twelve held a hand up.

“I have burnt the Ninth Prince,” he said, voice carrying throughout the entire field. “This duel is my victory.”

Nine snapped his gaze up at Twelve. When he saw that Twelve was readily ignoring him, he pounced on Twelve and left a fiery trail down the front of his abdomen before the winner of the fight could be announced.

“Now, I have burnt you too,” he countered.

Twelve blinked and threw a casual glance at his front to gauge the damage inflicted. He hadn’t been anticipating Nine’s attack.

Then, they were up in the air and Nine was drawing an arrow made of lightning while Twelve was breathing in, breathing out. Nine fired, had no time to aim, and Twelve redirected, hitting Nine square in the chest.

Twelve froze.

He would’ve crashed headfirst if his instincts weren’t trained to perfect a proper landing.

Why didn’t Nine dodge?

_Why?_

Nine pushed himself towards Twelve, as if from the force of Twelve’s counterattack, and gasped as the tip of Twelve’s fingers tore through his muscles.

His death would leave no doubt as to who the victor was.

He saw Twelve widening his eyes as he frantically tried to pull his fingers out. Nine contracted his muscles, sucking Twelve’s fingers deeper, and screamed out in pain.

 

 

_“I will disown you if you are not crowned heir.”_

Nine exited his mother’s room, hands automatically sliding her doors close.

That was a line he’s heard many times, over many years, but it had only recently started meaning nothing to him.

He never loved his mother. His mother never loved him. Why did he need her acceptance? Besides, he would be dead if he wasn’t crowned heir; there would be no need for him to be anyone’s son.

His steps were calculated, precise,  _royal_. He was heading to his room, where he knew Twelve’s eager bubble of energy awaited.

Twelve, whose smiles were like individual rays of hope, who Nine didn’t want the world to be without. He would do anything to help the world experience Twelve’s generous happiness for as long as possible.

 

 

_“I can’t.”_

_Six years, Twelve realized how little he meant to Nine in the face of the throne._

He was wrong. It was because he meant the world to Nine that Nine couldn’t give him the throne.

Nobody would respect a King whose crown wasn’t hard-earned. Nobody would submit to a King they thought as a weak ruler.

Nine could  _never_  leave Twelve with that kind of future.

 

 

After a short struggle, Twelve finally managed to pull his hand free.

“Nine!” he exclaimed as his brother crumpled to the ground.

The crowd watched with bated breaths. The Prince who was supposed to win, didn’t. The peasants worried over their bets; the nobles worried over their positions. Sure that Nine would win, they had tried to curry favor with him and never with the youngest son; never with Twelve.

“You won,” Nine wheezed. He couldn’t hear himself say it, but he was thinking it over and over again, and maybe if he thought hard enough, his message would reach Twelve. “Congratulations.”

He could vaguely see Twelve’s mouth forming circles.

 _No no no no no_  he was chanting.  _No no no, it isn’t supposed to end like this_.

Nine smiled. Eight years.

He tried to cup Twelve’s cheek, but his hand fell short of its destination and dropped to the ground, lifeless.

The fire in his eyes was a burnt out candle. Eight years.

 

 

Five years.

Twelve climbed on top of Nine’s chair and pulled the older boy towards him. Their lips touched.

Twelve’s arms snaked around Nine’s neck and Nine had both his hands gripping Twelve’s shoulders, as if doing so could stretch a second into two.

“I’ll think of a way,” Twelve swore, fervent.

Nine nodded.

For him, it had been clear for quite a long time what the ‘way’ was.

He chuckled, telling Twelve it was nothing when the boy asked.

He finally understood why Twelve was always so keen to sacrifice himself. He finally understood that it wasn’t  _disgusting_.

Nine leaned in and recaptured Twelve’s lips.

Sacrifice was really done for all the same reasons as a kiss.


End file.
